“I like this one,” Neris purrs inside my head.
“I do, too,” I admit.
“It’s fine,” I tell Sin. “No apology needed. I handled it.”
He flashes a grin. “Clearly. So you really are his mate? That wasn’t just a stunt at the party?”
My smile drops.
My eyes narrow. “I don’t like you anymore.”
Neris snorts and flips her metaphorical tail.
Sin raises an eyebrow, grinning wider. “You liked me?”
Another growl from Draven. Lower. Sharper.
“Enough,” he snaps. “Yes, Kassira is my mate—”
“No, I’m not,” I cut in, loud and clear.
The hallway goes still. Sharp gasps echo through the crowd. Murmurs ripple like thunder.
Draven’s jaw clenches so tight I hear the grind of his teeth.
“That,” he growls, “is not up for debate.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to argue. Just starts marching down the hall.
“To my office. We’re finalizing your… conditions.” His tone is pure steel. “Sin, you’re coming too.”
Great. Now we’re making it official.
We’ve been in Draven’s office for a few minutes now. He’s pacing in front of the desk, updating Sin about the collar wrapped around his lycan — casually — like it’s just another item on the royal agenda. They keep asking me questions: What did it look like? What kind of markings did it have? What did the magic feel like?
I answer, but my mind’s already working three steps ahead.
If I can’t leave, then I’m going to do what I do best — research. It’s my secret power. My only power. I’ll bury myself in scrolls, books, forbidden texts, whatever it takes to uncover what that leash is, how it works, and most importantly, who the hell put it there. Because that kind of magic isn’t just dangerous — it’s apocalyptic. Having the King of Alphas — who, by the way, shifts into a winged, indestructible lycan — on a magical leash? That’s a disaster waiting to happen. And when that leash gets yanked by some hidden puppet master, who is going to pay the price?
Exactly. All shifters. Including me, because I’m one of them and this idiot rules us all.
I can’t build a quiet life anywhere if the king can be unleashed on a murderous rampage on a whim.
Also — minor detail — I need to find a way to sever the bond on his end too. Because if I don’t, I’ll never be free of Draxis. That lycan will never let me go. They’re notorious for their possessiveness. And there has to be something in the royal library. There’s always a dusty manuscript for every kind of magical problem.
Too bad I can’t blame all this on his perfect little girlfriend. Wouldn’t that be satisfying? But even if she’s got some power, I know she’s a shifter. That kind of magic — the old, deep, twisted kind — could only come from a pure-blooded witch. And yes, I’m bitter about her. So what? I’m bitter about Draven, too! He can go suck a lemon! Or twelve. Both of them!
And speaking of witches — because the universe has excellent comedic timing — the door swings open.
And there she is.
Amira.
Red hair trailing behind her like silk. Gown perfectly tailored. Face flawless. Why couldn’t she just be ugly?
“Ven, baby,” she coos, voice high and sugary. It makes my molars itch. Makes me stabby.
Draven doesn’t even get a full second to react before she’s across the room and on him, lips crashing to his like he’s the air she’s breathing. Her hands on his chest. His hand automatically curves around her waist. Clearly old muscle memory. Familiar territory.
